


Out With the Old, On To the New

by DrunkenWinky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Discord: Dumbledore's Armada, Divorce, Gen, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (mentioned) - Freeform, One Shot, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrunkenWinky/pseuds/DrunkenWinky
Summary: Ron Weasley had been going through the motions for so long he hadn't realized he stopped living. That is, until he sees an engagement announcement in the Daily Prophet.Written for Dumbledore's Armada Flash Comp: Magic Begins from Within hosted by Kiwi and TakingFlight48Winner of Best Angst Award
Comments: 19
Kudos: 36
Collections: Magic Begins From Within - A Dumbledore's Armada Flash Fest Challenge





	Out With the Old, On To the New

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Magic_Begins_From_Within](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Magic_Begins_From_Within) collection. 



> Many thanks to both Kiwi and TakingFlight48 for hosting such a fun comp! Winner of Best Angst Award
> 
> Prompt: Throw away what no longer serves you

_10th April, 2003_

Ron stood, shoulders tense and ginger hair tousled, looking out the dingy front room window of his equally dingy London flat. Brows drawn in contemplation and hands buried deep in his pockets, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He watched the dark grey clouds, wispy and innocent in appearance, dissolve against the rapidly darkening sky as they wept upon the streets below, as if mourning the loss of the day.

Raindrops collected against the dirt splattered pane, forming small swells before finally spilling over and running down, leaving tracks of clean glass amongst the filth; a mimicry of desolate tears falling down a long, freckle covered face.

Ron’s face, however, was dry for the first time in a long time. Instead of tears, there was only hardened resentment in his eyes.

Turning from the window, his gaze flickered to that morning’s copy of _The Daily Prophet_ lying open on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was right where it had landed when it’d slipped from his grasp in disbelief. The moving picture of a witch and wizard stared up at him now, their smiling faces mocking him in his unhappiness. His loneliness.

Three years and eight months ago, Ron and Hermione had married. It’d been a large ceremony, dwarfing the last wedding held at his family home by significant numbers. Friends, family, and esteemed guests from all parts of the Wizarding World had gathered to celebrate the joining of two thirds of the Golden Trio, each dousing the young couple in well wishes and blessings for an endless union.

Their marriage hadn’t lasted a year.

Now, on the three year anniversary of Hermione walking out on him, there’s an engagement announcement in the _Prophet._ Mister Draco Malfoy and Miss Hermione Granger are to be wed. The pretty words beneath the photo stung at the unhealed edges of Ron’s heart.

  
  


_“Find the person who will love you because of your differences and not in spite of them, and you have found a lover for life.”_

  
  


If he hadn’t been so completely devastated, Ron would’ve laughed at the irony in her choice of words. Hermione and his relationship had been nothing but differences in opinion, self, and every other aspect under the sun, and Ron had honestly loved all of them. 

He’d loved her because of how she excelled in the areas in which he lacked, and he had thought she’d seen that quality in him. Ron loved how smart she was, her seriousness, and how her brow would furrow in utmost concentration when she set her brilliant mind to a task, attacking it with such vigor and dedication until she’d solved it, completely understood it.

Ron adored all those things and more about her, but it just hadn’t been enough.

There had been wounds Hermione had harbored, ones that she couldn’t or wouldn’t heal—riddles she couldn’t puzzle out, that left hues of bitterness and doubt in her mind about their relationship, about Ron’s commitment to her. They’d fought like cats and dogs for months on end. Their previously troubleless romance suddenly plagued with hurtful words of his past mistakes and unfounded accusations.

Ron had tried to save them. He’d tried his hardest to quell Hermione’s fears, her suspicions, her worries that he would abandon her, like he had when they’d been fearful and starving children on the run from absolute evil. 

He had assured her that yes, he loved her. And no, he’d never do that to her again. 

That yes, he meant it when he told her that she was the smartest, most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. That yes, while he was upset that Lavender Brown had met a grisly fate, it didn’t mean those feelings of sadness stemmed from some sort of regret that he was stuck with Hermione instead of the blonde.

Ron had tried everything he could think of. Gifts. Hand written notes. Flowers. 

Showering her with affection, love, and his time— _so_ much of his time. He’d tried muggle counseling, marriage counseling, and reading books about trauma and its effects on survivors. He’d taken her advice, accepted her critiques of himself and his persons. He’d changed his appearance, his style, the way he spoke to her, and the way he thought, all in an attempt to be more agreeable to her—more _acceptable_ for her. 

He had tried begging, and groveling, and pleading with her to get help, get help _with_ him, to help him _help them._ But, Hermione had left, and now she was marrying Malfoy. _Because of their differences_. 

Ron wanted to scream.

He tore his eyes from the photograph in the paper, from her bright brown eyes and laughing face. From her button nose, scrunched in delight and mirth as photograph Malfoy’s face descended towards her’s, wearing an expression of absolute adoration. 

Ron glanced about his flat— _their flat_ —the very same they’d moved into all those years ago. The dark grey couch Hermione had picked out. The dark stained coffee table. The dishes in the cabinets, the ones Hermione had insisted on getting, stubborn in her belief of needing _nice china for when guests visit_. The pictures on the walls were all the same as before, the exception being the few that had featured Hermione and him together. 

Ron knew the colors of the curtains complimented the entire color scheme of the flat. Not just because the only woman he’d been with since his divorce commented on it, but because he’d watched his ex-wife painstakingly curate every aspect of their life. 

In the three years since she’d gone, he hadn’t changed a thing. Not his hair, not his job, not the clothes she’d purchased him. Not an item or detail of his life was different besides the things she’d taken with her. 

He was stuck, just as she’d left him.

Outrage and hurt roared to life in his chest. His cheeks flushed as the emotions he’d kept locked away for three years crashed over him, obliterating any logic and rationale he had in his head like a tidal wave.

Ron drew his wand and in a single flick the couch, along with its matching pillows and throw, vanished. With the action, the tight, unbearable knot that he’d felt in his chest for the past three years loosened slightly. So he did it again. 

And again.

And again.

The coffee table, the one Hermione had proudly picked from an estate sale, vanished.

The book shelves, the ones that were once home to so many of her precious volumes that she’d poured over and ran to time and time again for comfort or escape, vanished.

The books that fell to the ground once the shelves were gone, _his_ books, the ones he’d hoped would hold the answers to their problems—vanished.

The dishes, the curtains, the paintings and photography on the walls. The bedding, the bed, the jackets and ties and the uncomfortable shoes Hermione had said made his feet look _not so oafishly big_ , vanished. 

Ron stormed through the entire flat, wand raised, as he erased all evidence of his past— _their pas_ t—from his sight. The rugs, the coasters, the key dish by the door. The boxes and boxes of knick knacks, mementos, and keepsakes from years past that he’d hidden in the less frequented rooms of the flat, too painful to view on a daily basis but too distressing to get rid of entirely at the time, vanished.

Once finished, when he couldn’t find any more items that held painful memories and the constricting squeeze he’d felt had eased enough for him to breathe, Ron found himself again in front of the window.

Hair in ruins, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat, he stared at his own reflection in the window, visible now that night had fully set. The clouds and rain had vacated the sky completely, and in its place was nothing but a clear, star stitched black. 

What Ron saw staring back both unsettled and freed him. 

His surroundings were bare, furniture gone and flat practically empty. Yet, backdroped amongst the quiet and the emptiness, Ron thought he looked more alive than he had in years.

In that moment, he knew he wanted to feel alive again. He wanted to do something with his life besides being known as one third of the Golden Trio. He wanted to be more than the sixth son of a Pureblood family, than a war hero, best friend of Harry Potter, and, most importantly, more than Hermione Granger’s ex-husband.

He wanted to be Ronald Weasley, whoever that was, and he wanted that to _mean_ something.

Mind made up, Ron turned from the window and stalked to the bedroom, dragging his old Hogwarts truck from the depths of the closet. He packed, not knowing exactly what he’d need but not having much left in the way of belongings to deliberate over. 

A less-than-legal extension charm and final sweep of the place later, Ron penned two quick missives. He left one for his landlord by the door, and the other he tied to his owl's leg and sent off with instructions to stay at the Burrow after she’d delivered the letter.

Ron took one last look at the now completely empty flat, allowing the memories and emotions to wash over him. _It hadn’t all been bad._

He could still hear Hermione’s laughter echoing in the kitchen and could almost feel the way her hands used to crawl up his chest to wrap around his shoulders in an embrace. He could still smell the multiple burnt dinners he came to home, and could feel the tips of his fingers wet from her tears as he’d wiped them away. 

With a shake of his head he pulled open the door, but the rustling sound of paper being crumpled caught his attention. Glancing down he found the torn page from the Prophet, the same that featured the picture of Hermione and Malfoy, at his feet. In his whirlwind of a breakdown it must have floated across the room, and now as he looked upon it tears welled in his eyes. Not in anger or sadness, not this time, but in acceptance.

“Congratulations, ‘Mione,” he whispered to her photograph, her beaming smile staring back at him. 

“I hope you’re finally happy.”

And with that, Ronald Weasley swished his wand, performing the _Evensco_ spell for the final time that night, and vanished the paper from existence as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

_To:_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Level Six: Department of Magical Transportation_

_Portkey Office_

_To Whom it May Concern,_

_Please view this letter as an official request for Travel Clearance._

**_Magical Transportation Required:_ ** _Portkey_

**_Requested Destination:_ ** _New York City, New York, United States of America_

**_Requested Departure Date and Time:_ ** _11th April, 2003, 0800_

**_Requested Return Date and Time:_ ** _N/A_

**_Person(s) Requesting Travel:_ ** _Ronald Billius Weasley_

  
  


_Thank you,_

_Ronald B. Weasley_

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And one mega awesome THANK YOU BEECH to my amazing alpha/beta Mimifreed—if you haven’t read her stuff, check it out!!! She’s AMAZING!!!! 💛💛💛💛


End file.
